Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1887-03-24

panss. shs fsels unusually discon
tented with herself aad the world gen,
orally. Seven years have now passed
away and dropped unseen in Time.
fathonlsss abyss; still no word come.
from Roland Morrison to assure he,
that shs is still remembered, while she
has she ever forgotten her promise,
motto forget. beneath the wide spread.
ing trees at the old church school ?
Her heart tells her too truly tha.
sac, at least, has been constant. Many
have been the suitors Of the hand Of
the little 'coquetts Of Sannysidss,
a. shs 10 familiarity called; but all
s:sd. asss ass 9th 81 sss ssIs sss eas i'll aa II:
state Of her feelings more deeply. her
thoughts grow too much for her, and
a reckless longing to fly from them.
even for awhile, induces her to don
her hat and seek her favorite haunt
down BY the silver stream near the
bridge that speaks yet forcibly of long
ago
Reaching the desired spot. she throws
aside her hat upon the grassy slope
and proceeds to capture q water lily
that seems doubly tempting because it
is somewhat out Of reach. but by walk.
ing quite steadily upon a fallen log
she succeeds in breaking the lily at
the loss Of . large comb, which is all
that holds her rsbsllious hair.
Nov, then |" she exclaims, "what
shall I do with my hair flying about
in this ridiculous fashion ?" "But it
is no use to grievs," she adds, and
forthwith1rrsnges the coveted flower
in her belt, well pleased with the
prize.
AS she stands thus, with the sun.
beams playing steslthily among her
golden ringlets, which fall far below
her waist. over the neat blue dress,
that contrasts 80 perfectly with her
fair face and hair, she is a picture
worthy of an artists brush,' and so
thinks Roland Morrison az he looks
for the first time upon the little school
girl he left behind Only for mo-
ment he stands regarding her; then
L--I---- u = i -
a delighted. half-questioning voice
"Lizstts, is this you? How much
you have changed. and vet / should
have recognized you anywhere"
"And l would have known you too,
Roland" she exclaims in the glad
surprise of the moment, extending
both hands to him. "Ah / am 60
very happy to see you again. 1t has
been a century since you first went
away"
HAS it?" says Roland, still hold
ing her hands. II am pleased at least
if it seemed 90 to you. for / feel fat.
tered to think you missed me-"
His words recall the weight of her
own, and q deep blush crimsons her
face to see how unknowingly she has
betrayed her real feelings.
"Mr. Morrison. will you not walk
home with me? Maurice and mamma
will both be 80 surprised and glad to
have you back again"
Il will indeed accept your kind in.
vitation, but before we 60 wont you
rest here, just little while? 1t ia
such charming morning"
He arranges a seat for her with q
broken limb from the ancient oak
above them, and then sits down be-
side her. with the request that she
will tell him how all the years have
passed since they were children to-
gether. Lizstte endeavors to comply
in a measure with what he asks, avoid
ing every word that could lead him to
suspicion the long sadness she had en-.
dursd, and when she has finished Mr.
Morrison questions rather abruptly
"Lizette, you did not call me Mr.
Morrison when in the surprise of the
moment forced my unexpected pres.
encs upon you. Why change my ii
tie now? I like Roland 90 much the
best. Always call me that, for it re
minds me Of the happiest hours Of my
life-the days at the old church Dc
you remember anything about thos'
joyous times?' he says timidly, search
ing minutely the face before him, "anc
have l." holding mp to her tiny golt
anchor "hoped in. vain through al
this weary, uncertain time? Do no
keep me in suspsnss." he continues
his voice q little unsteady, "but tel
me now"
For come moments longer the 81
lence is unSroken; then. following th
true promptings Of a faithful hear
she answers: